The Alphabet Series
by Joel-Gomes
Summary: Several stories that may or not may not be connected. Almost a decade later, I finally finished this. Every story is already written and will be posted here as soon as I'm able to type them all. Some are pretty lengthy, I should say; and some have become new personal favorites. Hope you'll like them.
1. A for Awareness

_**It took a little while, but I finally decided to finish this. I know this isn't the first time I said so; the difference now is: I already wrote every story. I just need to type them. **_

**A for**_**Awareness**_

**JAROD'S POV**

It's almost 3 A.M. now. All the lights are out and, yet, I know she's there. I know she's lying awake on her bed, waiting for the phone to ring. I know that because, a long time ago, I used to be the one who'd call her.

Not anymore.

In the old days, when it was just the two of us playing the game, she would be asleep by now. These are not the old days anymore. Everything is different now. One can play just as long as the rules aren't broken or changed. And from my point of view, seeing people you care about die for no good purpose, seems like a perfectly good reason to quit. There is no shame in that.

Sydney was the first to go – his death conveniently disguised as a heart attack –, soon followed by Broots, through an automobile accident. They were the two closest people to her inside the living hell known as The Centre. I mourned Sydney's death deeply and, although I didn't have a very close relationship with Broots, I considered him a trustworthy and honest man and paid him my respects.

All this happened about a year ago. Debbie's mother had died of lung cancer two years prior to Broots' death, so Miss Parker had decided to become the legal guardian of her former colleague's daughter.

It was the least she could do.

But it didn't seem enough. She lived in fear. Fear that one day, someone would come in and kill Debbie as well. Kill the last person in the world she cared about. She cared about Angelo as well, but he had left the scene a long time ago, as soon as the killings began. No one knew what had happened to him.

I often pray for his well-being. I'm sure she does too.

From where I stand, I know that her fear is real. It's tangible. They might come in to remove the last attachment of her emotional life. That's why she barely sleeps. That's why I barely sleep as well; watching her house from a safe distance, making sure she's safe – because I love her.

I wonder if she's aware of that.

**MISS PARKER'S POV**

It's near 3 A.M. when I get up from bed, leave my bedroom and make my way towards the kitchen. My throat is dry and my mouth tastes like something past the expiration date. Bad wine will do that to a person. I open the fridge and help myself to a few gulps of fresh orange juice. The liquid helps the dry sensation in my throat, but the mixing of flavors does worse than good.

After a quick stop at the bathroom, I return to my bedroom, but not before I check in on Debbie to see if she's having a peaceful sleep. Thank God she is. It's not easy to lose the person you love the most in the world. It's even worse if you have to watch it without being able to do anything to stop it. I have a first hand experience of how that feels.

I go to her bedroom window and look out at the dark night, trying to see some thing. Any thing. All the houses have their lights off, the street is empty and yet, I know he's there – Jarod, so called protector of the weak and abused.

The silence at this hour is overwhelming. So much so that I can almost hear myself think. A momentum broken only by a loud rhythmic breathing. Debbie's a sweet kid, but her snoring… God!

I'm happy for it. I wouldn't trade her snoring for anything. I promised her father I would take care of her, no matter what. And that's what I'm doing.

I no longer care about questions and answers, missing pieces or breadcrumbs. With Sydney and Broots dead and Angelo missing – dear Angelo, I hope you're safe – I often question myself why I'm still here. Still in Blue Cove, still at The Centre. Debbie and I, especially Debbie, deserve better to stick around the place who stole everything we held dear.

The question is a rhetorical one. I'm here because he's out there. I'm waiting for him. And until the day he comes knocking at my door and says to me: "Let's go." I will remain here because I know this is the only place where I can be with him right now. Even from a distance.

I know if he comes in I will follow him. And that is because I love him.

I wonder if he's aware of that.

_**Your opinions matter. Don't be shy.**_


	2. B for Blues

**B ****for **_**Blues**_

It has been almost two years since my brothers found me. Two years since I lost the two people I had always felt as if they were my parents. Two years since Jarod told me that I should accept the voices and learn how to embrace them.

"_They're your gift," _he'd said on that subway train.

I never asked to be gifted. I never wanted this, any of this, I wanted to be normal. Being special only made you get hurt. Take Jarod and Miss Parker for example. Even my brother Lyle would be a totally different person if he hadn't been special. I honestly believe that if Lyle was normal, Raines would never have tortured him like he did, like he did to me, to Jarod, Angelo or Kyle.

I haven't seen Jarod or Miss Parker since the day they both went after Alex. I know they are still safe, but still apart. I also know that they went to the island to discover some of the truth. Mom told me all about that.

I'm the one who knows everything now. I wish I didn't.

I think Sydney knows some of it too, which means he's aware that the truth can only come out when Jarod and Miss Parker choose not to walk on different sides of the road. My brother told me about his mentor and his upbringing. He didn't tell me everything, but it was enough to understand the inner conflict he feels toward his former caretaker. It's a very odd mixture of love, respect and hatred.

I've been working at a computer store for the past six months. It's quite an easy task and also one without much headache; that's probably because I don't attend that many clients since I'm usually at the back doing repairs or checking for missing components. Working with people is good, as long as they're not coming to you to complain about things.

All was going seemingly well until three days ago – last Saturday to be more precise. My boss had gone out so he had left me in charge. Apart from some cranky customers, the day had go on just fine.

When I was ready to close for the weekend, a young woman came bursting in, closed the door behind her and tried to catch her breath.

"I was just about to close, miss."

She looked at me – apparently she didn't realize that anyone was there until that moment – her eyes pleaded for help. "Please..."

Seeing the fear in her eyes, I went to the window, closed down the Venetian blinds and tried to comfort her by putting a hand on her shoulder. She flinched – the same I'd react before I knew about my brothers and how to control my gift.

"Relax. You're safe now." I smiled at her.

She looked at me and managed to display a tiny smile. "Thank you."

"What can I do to help you?"

"Just let me stay here for a while."

"Are you in any danger?"

"Look... I don't want to get you involved."

"I already am. So..."

Noticing her hesitation, I decided to go for a different approach. "Here's an idea. My car's right out in front. We can go to my place and wait there for a while. How's that?"

"I don't think––"

"Trust me."

"They are probably outside."

"Who's 'they'?"

"Look, this was a bad idea. I'm sorry."

She turned around and tried to open the door. I caught her arm before she had the chance to do it.. "I said I would help you."

"You don't know these people. What they're capable of."

"I don't care." I really didn't. They couldn't be worse than the people from The Centre. I grinned, the way Jarod some times did, trying to calm her down. "Do you want me to help you or not?"

"Do you have any way to get me out without me being seen?"

"You can go out by the back door. It leads to an alley. I'll pick you up there."

"What if something goes wrong?"

"You will be fine. Trust me."

She nodded. "Thank you."

I turned on the timer – fifteen seconds before the alarm turned on –, exited the store, locked the door and went for my car. As I was about to get in, I felt someone touching my shoulder. I turned around and saw what in all aspects looked like a sweeper, except for the light gray suit, as opposed to the usual black.

"Excuse me, sir..." he said.

"Yes?"

"I'm looking for this girl." He showed me a picture of the young woman I'd left just a few moments ago. "Have you seen her?"

"No. Sorry."

"You haven't seen her?"

"No, I haven't."

"I saw her entering your store.

"You must be mistaken. No one has entered my store for the past two hours."

"Do you mind if I take a look?"

"Yes, I do mind. Are you with the police?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that question."

"Then I'm afraid I can't let you in. Like I said, I haven't seen her. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

I entered the car and turned on the engine, driving away before he had the chance to do whatsoever. I drove two blocks, turned left, drove another two blocks, another left turn, one more block, one last left turn and, finally, a right turn. I stopped at the back door and she entered the car.

I filled two cups with hot-boiling tea and joined her at the table.

"Apple and cinnamon. Hope you like it."

"Thanks." She took a small sip. "For everything. I don't know how to repay you."

"How about a name, for starters?"

She smiled. "Patricia. You cancall me Tish."

"Nice to meet you, Tish."

"Ethan. That's a nice name."

"Thanks. I picked it up myself." She raised her eyebrow, but before she had the chance to ask anything, I questioned her. "Now, why are you running?"

She hesitated. I wanted to help her, but I couldn't force her to tell me anything she didn't want to. Finally, she lifted her left sleeve and showed me a number tattooed on her upper arm.

"This is my code number. They use it to keep track of me." She paused. "I'm not like most people, Ethan."

She took another sip. I reached for her hand and squeezed it, telling her to continue.

"I was born and raised at a place called The Institute. Think hell, with nicer furniture."

"Why did they keep you there?"

"You'll probably think I'm crazy..."

"Not as much as I once was. Tell me."

"I'm a pretender."

Her words caught me off guard.

"You're a pretender?"

It was her turn to be surprised. "You know what a pretender is?"

"Ever heard of a place called The Centre?"

"You came from there?"

"Sort of. I was raised by a foster family monitored by its current Chairman. My mother worked there too. She died when I was born. My brothers helped me to escape almost two years ago. One of them is a pretender too."

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know. All I know is that they're safe."

Suddenly, the front door was kicked open and a group of five men, lead by the look-a-like sweeper, entered my apartment with their weapons drawn. Tish tried to run for the window, but she was caught by two of the men.

"Let her go!"

I tried to fight them, but a blow from behind prevented me to do much of anything.

When I woke up, there were no traces of her. Even the cup she used had been washed and stored.

"Tish..."

It's been three days since this happened. Three days since I quit my job and decided to look for her. So far, I got nothing, but one day... One day I'll get lucky and I'll see her again.

_**I promise to all Ethan's fans I will try not to disappoint with the second part of this story, which will it take place in letter W (for Wandering). Until then, feel free to speak your mind.**_


	3. C for Confrontation

**C ****for**_**Confrontation**_

Werner Krieg is dead.

My childhood torturer, the man who murdered my parents and used me and my brother as guinea pigs for his scientific experiments on twins has finally left this world.

For years I have dreamed about his death – I came very close to be his executioner once – but, strange as it may seem, I didn't feel any joy when I learned about his demise. Truth be told, I didn't felt sad either.

I didn't know how to feel. Still don't.

Or perhaps I do. I just don't want to admit it. No matter how much I try to deny it, the fact is we are both alike.

I often recall the last time we were together. He asked me then if I liked Nietzsche. When I remember that moment, it always brings to my mind one of the philosopher's most famous quotes: _"__When you stare too long at the abyss, the abyss starts staring back at you."_ Something like that, I think. I never found a decent translation.

Looking at Krieg is, _was,_ like looking into a mirror, one that reflected who I really was inside. In a way, I feel I have more in common with Krieg, than I do with my twin brother Jacob. We we were one and the same, physically, as well as mental, but Jacob had one thing I never had – at least not until it was too late to make any difference – which was courage. When the time came to do what was necessary, he didn't turn a blind eye. He did what he had to do and risked his life to do so, while I stood cowardly behind.

I was a coward then. Still am, as a matter of fact. I ignored his warnings, his advices. Even after the accident that put him in a coma I still wouldn't see – wouldn't believe – what was going on around me.

Was I really dumb enough not to know, or too scared to admit it?

Last time we met, Werner told me there were no differences between the work he had done and the work I was doing. Whether I was aware of it or not, the facts were unequivocal: I exploited children against their will. Just like Werner did to me.

I wonder what would have happen to Jarod if he hadn't escape. Would he become like me? Would I want him to be like that? Do I still want it?

Unfortunately, that is something for which I'll have no answer anytime soon. Jarod is on the run and he's not coming back here, no matter what I might say. Can't say I don't understand why, because I do.

The only reason I'm still here is because I promised Catherine that I would always look out for her little girl. "Her little girl" is almost forty years old now, and The Centre's influence is already too powerful but, sometimes, I see a glimpse of her true self and convince myself there is still a chance.

I wish I could tell her all the truth she deserves to know. About her, about her brother, her real father, her mother's plan. I know all those things and it pains me to keep them a secret from her. But I must. She wouldn't believe me if I told her some of the things I know. Plus, she won't forgive me for half of them.

That's why she needs to figure things out for herself. She needs to accommodate her spirit in order to accept what lies ahead. There's a long journey yet to be made and I can only accompany her to a certain point. I trust Angelo and Jarod, as well as Ethan, will keep her on the right track.

Angelo is the only one who knows what I know and more – except, maybe, Ethan – and he has already forgiven me.

People tend to underestimate Angelo's abilities, but he's one of the brightest men I have ever known. Almost as bright as Jarod. The main difference between them is his speech impediment – courtesy of the then Dr. Raines – that complicates most interactions with the people around him. For most people, talking with Angelo is like talking to a two year old. They should remember that most of the subjects on the Pretender Project were brought to The Centre when they were still toddlers.

He's often regarded as a mental retarded, useful only because of his empathic abilities, and that's how he's managed to learn everything that is to know about The Centre. The day that information is displayed publicly, The Centre will finally cease to exist.

Sometimes, I imagine myself being taken away in the middle of the night, put in a cell and just being left there until someone would consider to pay me a visit. Exactly like how it was done to Jarod, Angelo or Kyle. I imagine mebeing a prisoner just like they were.

Just like I was.

_Deja vú_.

Payback.

I will pay for my crimes, of that I'm sure. I've accepted that. But I want to make a change first.

And for that to happen I will to have to be on the inside and take care of things. Just for a little while longer.

_**The confrontation between Krieg and Sydney was one of the best scenes on the all show, mainly because of the way it made Sydney reevaluate himself and some of the things he did.**_

_**Don't forget to speak what's on your mind.**_


	4. D for Demons

**D for**_**Demons**_

It really doesn't matter where I look or where I go. Wherever I am, they are there. They are always there. I know that because I can feel them. And it only gets worse when the night comes. Every time I feign to sleep, that's when they decide to make a full appearance and remind me of my sins; tormenting me with pleas of closure and understanding. All the things I don't know how to offer.

I open my eyes and, more often than not, I see blood on my hands. Too much blood. Too much death. It never washes away. I know my hands are clean, but I still feel the blood tainting them. It doesn't come out. It will never come out.

I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't know.

Ignorance is a weak excuse for murder.

I have to make up for a lot for the mistakes I've done in the past. A lot to redeem myself for. If only they wouldn't scream so loud. Just one good night's sleep. That's all I ask. That's all I need.

They trained me to become anyone. Right now I want to be no one, a stranger among a crowd. With no guilt, no worries, no stress. I want to be me: Jarod. At least once. I want to take the time to understand, to assimilate, but I know it will probably take longer than what I have left to live.

_**What's that saying about walking in someone else's shoes? I admire Jarod, I would love to be able to do the things he does, but if the price to pay was the kind of guilt he carries at all times, I'd say 'No, thank you."**_

_**I would also say thank you to any words from you.**_


	5. E for Enhancement

**E**** for **_**Enhancement**_

Sometimes, when I'm alone, he comes to me.

_Do you remember me?_

Timmy.

Yes.

I remember him. It was a long time ago, but I still remember him. Don't want to remember. Keep trying to forget he ever existed. No place in the world for him now.

The men came with the night. They always moved when it was dark; when there was nobody around to offer a feeling of protection. Took Timmy to a bad place and left him there for days without food or water. Those were not the bad times, as he was soon to find out.

They were evil. They hurt Timmy. I'm sorry for him. They said he was special. That's why they wanted Timmy in the first place. Because he was special. Not as special as Jarod, but special enough to deserve the attention of Mr. Raines.

But Mr. Raines was unsatisfied with Timmy. He wanted more from Timmy. Mr. Raines always wanted more. It was never enough. He wanted Timmy to be more special.

He took Timmy below and did horrible things to Timmy. He wanted Timmy to be better. To be perfect. He wanted Timmy to be a success.

Then She came to help Timmy, but it was already too late. She hugged Timmy and asked, with tears in her heart and pain in her voice. "What have you done with Timmy?"

"His name isn't Timmy anymore. From this moment on, he shall be known as Angelo."

Timmy was no more.

Or so they believed.

Sometimes, when I'm alone, he comes to me.

_Do you remember me?_, he asks.

Yes, I remember you.

_Let me be Timmy again, _he pleads.

No. I have to be Angelo now.

_There is no more Timmy._

No more Timmy?

_No. No more._

_Ever._

_**Ten years (give or take) after writing this, I still see this as one my favorites. I hope the feeling is mutual, my fellow reader.**_


	6. F for Fear

**F ****for **_**Fear**_

The dead are all around me.

I can feel them wandering around every time I breathe. It's something I cannot – don't want to – avoid. I like to enjoy them roaming through the confines of this place, forever trapped. It's the one and only time when I can afford to feel truly relaxed. The one and only place where such a thing is even remotely possible.

Sitting on the cold tiled floor, with my legs crossed, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Most of the residents here – albeit in a temporary basis – are here because of my actions. They died because of me.

Feels good to have such power.

I take another breath.

At this time of night all the Centre's staff is long gone. Probably there are still some orderlies at the upper levels, but no one with a valid good reason to come down here to the morgue.

These walls, these cabinets, they all bring back memories. I remember when I first came to work here – still unaware of my true relationship to this place. I thought I was going to be a medical examiner for the rest of my life, but all that changed when I discovered my adoption papers.

I was Carl Parker's son and a legitimate heir to The Centre.

The idea of becoming the leader of The Centre quickly seduced me. I already missed count of how many times I tried to seize power from big brother Cain. Funny thing. And ironic. In the Bible, it is Cain who kills Abel. In our case, the desire to see the other one dead is equally distributed.

Cain and Abel. Mr. Parker and Mr. Raines. Biblically speaking, one good, the other one bad; reality, however, has very few resemblances with the so-called good-book.

Even though I'm now the Chairman, I still enjoy – still need, as a matter of fact – to come here at least once a week. Like I said before, it relaxes me. It gives me time to think, to reflect upon pertinent issues.

Inheritance, for one.

Tomorrow's my seventieth birthday. More than enough time for a long time due retrospective.

I have to wonder: am I proud of everything I did?

As proud of everything I still have to do.

I don't regret any of the lives I took; I don't regret the pain I caused. I don't regret any of that because that served a purpose – it helped me to climb the ladder to the upper echelon. And now that I'm on top, I have to choose my successor.

The obvious choice would be Lyle. I know he has the necessary cold blood and intelligence to see that our most delicate projects come to an end. Plus, he used to sit on my chair. He's familiar with the way things work. It's his other interests that make me apprehensive. I know how Lyle behaves when he's given full power – he looses sight of what's important. I don't need, don't want, someone who isn't capable of controlling his urges. He still has his qualms with Jarod. If I nominated Lyle as my successor there's no telling how much of the The Centre's fund he will spent to fulfill his wish. And after he's done with Jarod, her sister and her team will be next.

My second choice is, although somewhat reluctant, Miss Parker. The Ice Queen, as everyone calls her. I haven't always agreed with her – she's too much like her mother – but I have to admit she's clever. More clever than Lyle. I have the tests to prove it. She's also more determined. I know that her lack of results in capturing the still on the run Jarod is not due to incompetence on her behalf.

According from the reports and the DSAs, it's obvious that something happened between Jarod and Miss Parker. Something only they know about. I don't think Sydney knows it either, and Sydney knows them better than anyone.

She's capable of keeping The Centre at the top of the food chain, of that I'm sure. Unfortunately, I'm also sure that she will have no hesitation before shutting down my most precious projects.

Which brings up the question or irrational perseverance against blind determination and the realization that there is no easy choice.

Why can't I choose Cox?

He would be perfect as my successor. He has Lyle's coldness and Miss Parker's determination, not to mention his intelligence. Sort of reminds me when I was his age. If it wasn't for the fact that a contract we made with The Triumvirate stipulates that The Centre has to be run by a Parker at all times, things would be much easier for me now. I would gladly dispose of Lyle, Miss Parker and Sydney and I would put Cox in charge.

The irony here is: they're neither my sons, nor my brother's. For someone so smart I wonder how they haven't discovered it yet. Who their real father is, who their other brother is. In Lyle's case, I think his desire for power would easily overcome most if not all blood ties that he might find. I trained him to be like that. Miss Parker, however, wouldn't let things go that easy if she knew the truth.

She and her brother are a powerful force separated – I fear what could happen if they decided to conceal efforts. I'm more inclined to believe in Miss Parker joining forces with Jarod than with Lyle. But I could be wrong.

If young Joseph were a few years older, I could nominate him Chairman and appoint Cox as acting Chairman until he reached enough age to rule The Centre on his own.

Mr. Parker's idea of creating Joseph was a very smart move – one that is proving very profitable now. Joseph is even more than talented than his father was – no doubt his mother genes had some influence there as well – and without a Sydney around there are no restrictions in terms of morality.

He has a future here.

But only to a certain point.

If only we had Jarod. With Jarod in our possession, we could use that leverage to cut all ties with – perhaps even overcome – The Triumvirate. As long as he doesn't find his mother, there's still a chance of that. And with the Triumvirate gone I could finally ignore the contract and appoint Cox as my successor.

I take a deep breath. It's frustrating really, but despite my position of power, I'm unable to choose. My hands are tightly tied. Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow's a new day. And here at The Centre there are never two days alike. Something will happen tomorrow and that will decide this company's future.

For better, or for worse.

_**Creepy, that's for sure. Your thoughts?**_


	7. G for Genuine

**G ****for **_**Genuine**_

I'm nothing. They keep telling me that I'm unique, _special_, but I think different. I know different.

For too many years now years I have lived constantly on the run, always looking back for any signs of sweepers or any other Centre personnel. I know they will never let me go. It's too dangerous for them to let the world learn about my existence. The repercussions would be too dangerous for them.

In fact, being exposed to the world, would be too dangerous for me as well, so I try to maintain a low profile. My social interactions never last more than two months. It's a constant trip to a non existing place called home.

It's hard trying to adjust to so many changes, even for a Pretender. I no longer know stability. When I was at Donoterase, despite being a prisoner there, things were different. I had things to do. They were hard on me, but at least I had a purpose. It wasn't until I left that I understood what The Centre's real intentions were.

My caretakers were very demanding, always wanting more and more. And I would do anything to make them happy or, at least, to avoid their fury. I knew what would happen if I failed. I learned at an early age that the anticipation of pain was far greater than the pain itself.

Mr. Raines was a master at it. I feared him. Everyone did. Except for two people. I only saw them once, but it was enough to enlighten my spirit.

First, came the lady. She spoke to me with a soft voice, told me she had to do something to help or else she couldn't live with herself. I believed in her. She was the first person ever that made me feel special for the right reasons.

Sydney came next. He was going to be my educator. I didn't pay that much attention at first. My educators and tutors changed every week. But his posture scared me a little at first.

"My name is Sydney. I am going to take care of you for a little while," he said and he really did. He took care of me. Unlike my previous caretakers, Sydney took a special interest in what I needed to better perform my tasks. He said he would help me – just like the lady did – and once again he was a man of his word.

I escaped The Centre leaving years of pain and suffering behind me. That was when my world really shattered.

My rescuer was the man I had been trained all my life to hate. The man who had killed my parents. Or so I was told. Jarod told me all about The Centre and the time he'd spent there. Somehow, I couldn't avoid empathizing with him. I knew what he had been through; he knew it hadn't been easy on me either. But my anger toward him remained.

What he showed me next changed everything. The information was undeniable and his eyes only spoke the truth. I was his clone. A duplicate. Not a real person. Jarod had always been their most prized possession and The Centre felt that a safeguard was necessary in case something went wrong.

Something did go wrong. We both escaped and now we both have to live on the run.

I live with Major Charles, my father (or perhaps my grandfather?). I'm sorry for the uncertainty, but family ties are very confusing when you're a clone.

I don't know who I am. A clone? A son? A brother? What am I?

I read a poem once. It went like this:

_I am nothing._

_I will never be more than nothing._

_Apart from that I have in me the dreams of the world._

Let's just hope it's true.

_**The final poem is an excerpt of a larger poem called "Tabacaria" ("Tobbaco Shop") written by portuguese twentieth century poet Álvaro de Campos, one of Fernando Pessoa's many heteronyms. If you find the time to do so, don't forget to let me know your opinion about this story.**_

The final poem is an excerpt of a larger poem called "Tabacaria" ("Tobbaco Shop") written by portuguese twentieth century poet Álvaro de Campos, one of Fernando Pessoa's many heteronyms. You can read the whole poem at .

And, if you find the time to do so, don't forget to let me know your opinion about this story

- See more at: . ?sid=5334&chapter=1#sthash.

The final poem is an excerpt of a larger poem called "Tabacaria" ("Tobbaco Shop") written by portuguese twentieth century poet Álvaro de Campos, one of Fernando Pessoa's many heteronyms. You can read the whole poem at .

And, if you find the time to do so, don't forget to let me know your opinion about this story

- See more at: . ?sid=5334&chapter=1#sthash. 


	8. H for Haven

**H****for **_**Haven**_

There is a safe place for everyone. I have mine. No one knows about it and I hope no one ever will. I need it to be pure, to be cleansed of The Centre's influence. I've worked there for a long time and I know what happens to good things when The Centre touches them: they change and it's never a good change. They make people change, they make places change. Life turns into something dreadful. I know this. I live this.

To be honest, at first, I thought it was a good place. I really did. I was raised to believe that. Later on, I discovered the truth. And, from that moment on, I tried to make a difference. Goodness cannot be completely extinguished, only temporarily reduced to a minimum. If the right person at the right time does what it takes, maybe there's a chance. A tiny chance, but a chance nonetheless.

So I thought about going to Sydney and ask for his help, but once I did that, he looked the other way. He refused to believe how blind he had been. I got someone else to help me, but my plans worked out wrong.

I failed.

I've left the people I love fall at The Centre's mercy.

My haven was still there. Waiting for me, but I felt dirty inside. Guilty with what I had done. I wouldn't go there again. Not then. Not until I felt clean.

He came to me and offered me his help and support as a return favor I'd never thought about claiming unless it was absolutely necessary. Now was such a time. And, besides, no one would know.

"Only until everything is over," he said.

I believed in him. I believed the lie. Again, I was a fool.

But I didn't have a choice. Also, I was certain he wouldn't hurt me.

For a while, at least, I would be safe.

I had enough time to devise a plan. Not to escape – too late for that – but, at least, to allow continuity. I asked him to bring Jarod to my presence.

Jarod would listen to what I had to say and he would learn. They would most likely try to make him forget everything. But Jarod would never forget it. I know who Jarod is. The Voices have told me that. And one day he will know it too.

The one still to come will guide Jarod to his true path. That will be his purpose in life.

My caretaker is hesitant about leaving me and Jarod alone. Finally, he accepts it, thinking he has a trump card.

For now.

The ace is growing inside me.

I close my eyes and think of my daughter. My haven. I'm doing this for you. Please understand. Please forgive me.

_**Sometimes it's hard to understand the true reasons behind Catherine's actions. How much did she really know? How much did she willingly allowed to go by? I like to think she was trying to do the right, for the right reasons, but made some bad choices along the way. Your thoughts?**_


	9. I for Inspiration

**I****for **_**Inspiration**_

_The night was cold._

No, not cold. It's Summer time now.

_The night was hot._

Well, maybe 'hot' isn't the right word.

_The night was—_

Why does it have to be night?

_There are pretenders among us._

Nah, that won't work. Besides, there's only one pretender now and he's out there.

_There's one pretender out there._

Damn! I can't get this story started.

Okay, calm down. You've only been trying to start this for… what day is this? July, 3rd. That makes it… What? Three weeks? Stop being too hard on yourself! You need to be a little more patient.

_Mr. Raines was an evil man._

On second thought, I don't want to start my story with him. It might bring bad luck. I need something else. Something positive.

_Once upon a time, there was a secret organization._

No, no, no. What I need to do is consider my approach. What is my main intention?

Write a story about The Centre?

Yes, but before that?

Getting it started?

But, what do I hope to accomplish with it?

Not getting killed if Mr. Raines reads it.

What's your MAIN message?

I don't know yet.

Why are you talking to yourself?

I... Shut up!

I'm starting to lose my mind. I need to focus.

Main character… can't be me. I prefer to be on the background on a supporting role. How about Jarod? Sounds good to me.

_Jarod was a smart guy. Real smart._

Maybe something romantic. People like romances. They sell a lot.

_Even after all those years, he could still remember the taste of her lips._

Too sappy for me. Something more violent.

_Jarod was a good man, but he could be pretty mean from time to time._

That sounds like a low budget movie. Something else. What time is it? Almost four o'clock. Hmm… I got it!

_The ticking of the clock told him he didn't have enough time to defuse the bomb._

Yes! First sentence is done. Now for the second.

_He considered his choices and quickly realized he really didn't have any._

Oh, yes! I'm the man! No one can stop me now, baby!

Then, the door opened and she came in.

"Sam, pack your stuff. We're going to Michigan."

"Yes, Miss Parker."

Oh well, I guess the third sentence can wait a few more weeks.

_**The most wonderful thing about writing fanfiction is imagining how the characters behave when they're not on scene. Somehow, Sam as a wannabe writer doesn't seem that far-fetched. What do you think?**_


	10. J for Justice

**J****for **_**Justice**_

_The man before him was nothing._

Jarod cracked his knuckles and took a step forward.

_The man before him was nothing._

He repeated the words to himself as many times as necessary, until he could accept them as being undeniably true. Closing in on his prey, he began to put away his humanity, allowing room for the anger he felt to run free.

_The man before him was nothing._

Even Lyle had some sense of dignity; perverted, but dignity nonetheless. Lyle would kill, rape, steal, extort, eat, but even he would draw a line somewhere. There was a line, yes. A line between what was acceptable from what was not.

_The man before him was nothing._

More than a murderer. Less than a man. Less than an animal.

_The man before him was nothing._

Animals would kill to survive, men would kill for fun, sometimes for sports. Death, to some extent, could also be viewed as a final reward. A bliss. This man had done far more worse than killing. IF he had killed, maybe Jarod's anger and resentment toward him wouldn't be so great.

_The man before him was nothing._

Matthew Soromon was a respected District Attorney, a man above suspicion, single father of two, after his wife sudden disappearance. He had a hidden side – a _dark _side – like most men did; unlike most men, however, he didn't try to ignore it, his only concern was keeping it out of other people's knowledge.

He was a man who enjoyed, embraced, needed power; he needed to feel superior to those around him. And his children were the closest to him. They depended on him. They counted on him.

_The man before him was nothing._

Far from any possible forgiveness, mercy or redemption, Matthew Soromon would exact his fury on his children; the oldest being six and the youngest only nine months of age. Their young ages didn't bring him any pity, it only excelled his anger.

Unfortunately for him, his daughter had confessed to her school teacher that 'her daddy did bad things to her'. It took a while for her pleas to be heard – daddy was a powerful man, after all – but eventually Social Services and the Police were knocking at his front door.

Soromon had started to hit his baby son on a daily basis a few days earlier. It wasn't punishment, it wasn't reward; it was simply something he had to do. He felt that everyone had his obligations – to themselves and to the world. Matthew Soromon's obligations were to teach his children the meaning of pain. Like his parents had done for him.

When the police came, he barricaded himself and took his children hostage. A team of negotiators was called to the scene. After using all options, they decided to move in.

Jarod was the team leader, barely keeping his men under control. He cringed as he saw the recently beaten-up baby lying on the crib at the room at the end of the hallway; he shuddered as he discovered the missing wife, supposed to have abandoned her family a few months earlier, inside a refrigerator in various plastic bags. He almost let himself go both times.

He didn't know how he was able to resist.

_The man before him was nothing._

His dark side almost took over but, somehow, Jarod managed to keep his wits and focus on what was truly important at the time: saving the baby's life.

He would deal with the father afterward.

A few hours later, at the ICU, Jarod sat by and watched for the baby's welfare. His superiors had advised him against creating attachments to the victims; he had often said so himself to his team members.

Discipline, no matter how strong it is, cannot resist the power of humanity. There are limits beyond which man mustn't go.

Matthew Soromon had, consciously, crossed those limits.

_The man before him was nothing._

He had beaten his son, not with anger, but with an almost disgusting calm and peace of mind; he had done it deliberately, like a scheduled event; hitting enough to give pain, stopping short only moments before the comfort of death could appear.

It had been a conscious effort, a calculated step for some unseen, inconceivable purpose only Matthew Soromon would know of.

_The man before him was nothing._

Jarod could not – would not – forgive him for this; he would happily make sure Matthew Soromon felt exactly like his children did.

_The man before him was nothing._

He knew there would be no sentence passed by the justice system who could do the victims justice. It was even possible he would find a loophole in the law and walk away clean. Being a district attorney, he probably had enough leverage for that. No, he couldn't trust the legal system. Not this time. So he helped him escape prison and took him to an abandoned warehouse.

Matthew Soromon didn't know the true meaning of the word pain. He thought he did, but his parents had been kind ones, compared to the caretakers Jarod had at The Centre. He would learn that lesson soon enough. Three days hanging by his arms, with nothing but absolute darkness, silence and starvation was the first step to break him.

_The man before him was nothing._

Jarod walked closer to the man, his hatred toward him growing non-stop. His wrists were injured for having to sustain his slightly overweight body for too long. Matthew Soromon would remember that pain as pleasant, compared to what he would endure later.

Matthew Soromon looked into Jarod's eyes and saw hate and resentment mixed with a strange sense of justice; he saw himself for the first time in someone else's eyes and felt the anticipation of pain. He knew then, almost instantly, it would overwhelm the physical pain itself.

_The man before him was nothing._

Jarod embraced such thoughts – allowed them to grow free – and hit Matthew Soromon with a crowbar. He had thought about bringing a cattle prod, like the one used one time with Lyle; except this time he WOULD use it.

Soromon tried to dodge the blow, but he didn't have anywhere to go and trying to escape the punishment only made Jarod's hatred grow.

_The man before him was nothing._

Jarod hit him again. And again. And again.

He knew exactly where to hit. He knew where it would hurt the most. Years of beatings and torture at The Centre had made him an expert.

Matthew Soremon was an amateur. And a pathetic one. His desperate attempts to avoid being hit at certain parts were so ridiculous, Jarod felt obligated to kick him vigorously on the ribs. Any attempt to resist, even to ease the pain, would be regarded by Jarod as something inexcusable, one more reason to increase the level of punishment.

_The man before him was nothing._

Blow after blow, bones were broken, blood was spilled. 'Humanity's seed of hope' like Damon had taunted once, had turned into a demon of vengeance. There was no room for mercy, much less for forgiveness.

_The man before him was nothing._

Jarod thought about the baby; barely kept alive by a life support system, his brain damaged beyond healing, condemned to live the rest of his life that way unless someone pulled the plug. And that final ounce of dignity had been denied from him by the man who had brought him into the world.

_The man before him was nothing._

Matthew Soromon didn't deserve to live.

_The man before him was nothing._

He had crossed the path deliberately and for that he had condemned himself to eternal damnation.

_The man before him was nothing._

Soon it would all be over.

_The man before him was nothing._

But, just before hitting the final blow, Jarod stopped.

Killing Matthew Soromon would not bring the child back.

_The man before him was nothing._

Killing Matthew Soromon would be offering him the comfort he didn't offer his son.

_The man before him was nothing._

He was weak, pathetic, worthless.

_The man before him was nothing._

Jarod turned his back on him and left. He would phone the police and tell them to pick up Soromon. No one would know he had been the one responsible for beating up a murderer; no one would even bother. And, more importantly, he would keep himself from going down to his level.

_**Everyone has his breaking point. If we don't find a way to let go off our anger, sooner or later we're going to snap. Our daily life frustration, no matter how strong they seem, are no match for the kind of anger and resentment Jarod has inside him. He often takes justice in his own hands, but never to this extent. I tried to take him to the edge as much as I could and allowed him to make his choice.**_

_**Any words?**_


	11. K for Keepsakes

**K****for **_**Keepsakes**_

He is know simply as 'He' or 'him', depending on the sentence. 'He' brings fear, worries and headaches to those in charge of his needs and wills. 'He' is a living terror with a lovely smile. 'He' is Lord, sorry, Master Parker and this is his story. One of them, anyway.

~º~

The day at The Centre was far from over. Everyone was busy doing their things. Miss Parker, Sydney and Broots analyzing hints left by Jarod; Lyle using his charm to invite his newest Chinese secretary for a nice meal at his place; Mr. Raines devising a new evil project; Mr. Cox embalming another dead road animal; Angelo taking a stroll through the ventilation system; and, on the Nursery Level, down on SL-19, nurse Nancy reading a magazine while Master Parker took his nap.

Or so she believed.

Although 'He' is only four years old, 'He' honors his genes. The son of Jarod and Miss Parker had his mother's stubbornness and his father's curiosity. That means that if someone told him not to go outside his Playroom, he'd see that as a challenge and would act according to his instincts.

Therefore, finding himself unwatched, with the camera turned off, 'he' decides to venture on a journey outside his area of confinement. Whenever he does that, things are bound to happen. They are not necessarily bad – or good for that matter – just unexpected.

And how, may you wonder, does a four year old walk around The Centre unnoticed?

Quite easily, as a matter of fact. The same way Angelo does. And remember, Angelo isn't in his lair at the time, so it's child's play, pardon the pun, for 'him' to go there and take something shiny, pretty or – when regarding Cracker-Jacks – tasty. Uncle Angelo wouldn't mind.

Next, 'He' goes down to Mr. Lyle's office – his supposed half-brother –, who's still outside, courting his new secretary. He opens his desk drawer and retrieves a Chinese cooking book. His Inner Sense tells him that Lyle will not need it for that night.

Miss Parker and her crew members decide to take a break and he finds that as the perfect for opportunity for 'him' to go to the Sim-Lab and take some of his daddy's souvenirs.

And last, but not the least, a trip to SL-25, room 19, where Mr. Raines usually keeps his oxygen tanks stored. He lost his spare key a few days ago. Guess who has it now?

Although it can be amusing, this kind of activity is not without its dangers, especially when a turned off camera suddenly turns on and catches the perpetrator in midcrime. Thus, when Nurse Nancy sees Miss Parker, Sydney, Broots, Mr. Lyle, Mr. Raines, even Angelo, walking inside the Nursery, she knows 'He' has done it again.

'He' pretends to be asleep – which isn't that difficult because he is really tired – but they don't buy it. Miss Parker peeks under his bed and finds the missing items.

Mr. Raines, the child's tutor after Mr. Parker's demise, takes a step forward and says:

"You're grounded!"

Now, when you spend your entire life confined to a room, the concept of being 'grounded' is somewhat redundant and, therefore, it can be opened to interpretation.

"Does that mean I can go out now?"

"No!" Raines replies angrily. "You stay here."

"So what's the difference?"

Without a good answer to supply, Mr. Raines simply warns: "Don't get smart, young man!"

'He' grins and thinks to himself. _Yeah, right._

**_Baby Parker's parentage is one of the mysteries left to solve. Since Mr. Parker wasn't able to father a child at the prime of his age, the chances we would be able to do so at a later age were slim, at best. For the sake of this story, I went went with the version that considers him the offspring of Jarod and Miss Parker._**

**_About regarding Angelo as the real Parker twin, the reason for that is that I find his empathic abilities as very similar to the Inner Sense Miss Parker possesses. Lyle hasn't displayed any psychic ability so far, which is not to say he doesn't have one._**

**_Your opinions will be welcomed._**


	12. L for Leftovers

**L****for**_**Leftovers**_

Kim-Sum had never been so afraid in her life.

She was shackled to a wall inside a small shed filled with dirt and garbage. Its walls were soundproofed, according to her kidnapper, and the smell of urine and feces was too intense to ignore.

How had she ended up in such a situation was not her most immediate concern. She already knew the _how;_ what she needed to know now was _what_ to do to get out of there.

~º~

Mr. Lyle was reviewing some project reports that needed to be presented to The Triumvirate administration later that day. It was a boring thing to do, but one that had to be done. He wished he could succumb to his urges and get away from his office, but he knew better. The previous night's adventure had caused him enough delays as it were. As much as he hated assuming it, he had to finish work first.

Raines had always told him, regarding his occasional trips to the world of eastern delicacies, _"__I'll keep a blind eye, if you keep up with your deadlines." _That advice always rose from the depths of his mind whenever he felt the temptation becoming too overwhelming to resist. He was sure of one thing, though: he had no intention of getting deprived of his favorite hobby. That being said, when he had work to do, especially project evaluations, he would do it as efficiently as it was expected of him. He was a red-file, after all. He may not have had Jarod's training, but he was resourceful enough to be on top of the food-chain.

Fortunately for him, that resourcefulness wasn't enough to capture Jarod. So far, they tended to cut him some slack whenever an idea designed to capture the elusive Pretender turned into another failure. How long this 'luck' would last was dependent on him not failing on anything else. He also had some other leverage, but even that would not last forever.

~º~

Kim-Sum's wrists were dirtied with dried blood. The shackles were too tight and the walls were too thick for her to break or to be heard by some outside passerby. Nevertheless, she screamed until her lungs were empty of air, until it hurt. Her throat sore, she took a breath, as deep as she could, and kept on screaming. No one would listen to her – she knew that for a fact – yet, she continued. To be silent would be the same as giving up. And she would not give up.

She ignored the pain once more and pulled her chain. Her goal was not to break it – it was too strong and too solid for her to do it – but to get a hold of the small piece of metal left among the garbage on the floor. If, by luck, it was sharp enough maybe she could use it as screwdriver and remove the bolts that held the chain to the wall. She still had hope.

~º~

Lyle's next office neighbor was an accountant. An attractive accountant. Blonde hair, green eyes, nice smile, voluptuous body; the kind that could make men turn their heads without realizing they were doing it. Often enough they would pass by each other – sometimes at the corridor, other times in the elevator or the cafeteria – and she would try to flirt with him. Lyle never failed to match her intentions, but his actions were merely for appearances sake. No one could deny her attractiveness, but the truth was that he favored the east over the west.

Once again, as he exited his office for a quick trip to the cafeteria – and a much needed break after reviewing all those reports – he was face to face with her.

"Hi," she said with a smile. She couldn't stop smiling around him. Whatever it was, Lyle often wondered if there was something wrong with her, if she was simply an idiot or if a plastic surgeon had made a mistake while working on her face.

"Hi, Kate," he said, without stopping his stride. Not in the mood right now.

"I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner tonight?"

_With me_. She didn't say it, but knew it was implied.

His response came with a sincere smile. "I'm sorry, Kate. I already made plans."

She was disappointed, that much was obvious, but she hid it pretty well. "We'll do it some other time, then," was her answer. Lyle almost admired the way she kept her face straight.

~º~

The edges of Kim-Sum's improvised screwdriver were too sharp for her to use without injuring her hands. Blood ran from her palms as she worked on the first of the four bolts that attached the chain to the wall. She was taking too long, but she couldn't go any faster without seriously hurting her hand.

And that was not an option.

At first she had considered using that piece of metal to pick up the lock on her shackles. One simple try was all it took for her to realize that that wouldn't be the best usage of her precious time.

She had no idea how much time had passed. She had to assume it was already too late and he would be back anytime soon to finish what he had started.

He had told her what he had done to the others before her, and how he planned to improve his work. Such a nice face, such a hideous monster. Captivity could awake a person's will to live. Some chose to give up. Not her. She would not give up.

~º~

Lyle finished his coffee as he flipped the last page of the daily newspaper. It was now 4:30 P.M.., only one hour left before he could call it a day. His report was finished and twice revised to prevent any slips. Whenever he had dinner waiting at home, he feared that his mind would follow his stomach and write down compromising tidbits about his hobbies. No such thing happened this time but, as the commoners say, better safe than sorry.

He still remembered the one time when he accidentally wrote the name of his latest victim instead of the name of the contractor. He rectified that mistake before he delivered the report. From that moment on he was always on the edge when his hunts coincided with his reports. Luckily for him, he never compromised himself a second time. That assuming, of course, that the first time he noticed a mistake like that, was actually the first time he made one. No doubt if anything compromising had been divulged previously he would know about it by now.

~º~

One final bolt to go. Dried blood on her hands, Kim-Sum was on the verge of getting her freedom back. She could barely hold onto that piece of metal; it kept falling from hands numb from too much effort. Every time she dropped it, she would hold it again very tightly and proceed with her task until it would fell again.

Her father had suffered torture at the hands of people who could not let the past rest in peace. She had seen his wounds and knew, without comparison, that she was having a picnic compared to what her father went through, many years before she was born.

He had suffered immensely but never once did he compromised his principles or broke his code of honor. He said once that she was the strongest person he knew. That, coming from a man who had endured so much, was too important to ignore.

She would not disappoint him.

Once the final bolt was finally released, Kim-Sum yanked the chain from the wall. Slowly getting up, she slid the comportment door and exited the closet that served as a passage between a normal bedroom and a small torture chamber. Leaving the bedroom, she followed the corridor that lead to the living room.

Her body wanted to flee and just leave it all behind. Her mind, on the other hand, knew that she had to do something to keep what could had been her future from happening to others. She needed to let people know who Bobby Bowman really was, but first she needed a phone.

~º~

Lyle arrived home ten minutes earlier than usual. The traffic had been his friend and collaborated by offering little, if any, obstacles. Everything was quiet outside. Aside from the two cars parked on the other side of the street, there was nothing worth of notice.

He exited his car and crossed the path to his front door. He went in and for a while he couldn't recall if he had left the curtains open or not. He remembered turning off the lights, but not drawing the curtains. Not to worry.

He turned the lights on and saw that his living room was packed with Chinese people. The look on their faces immediately told him they were not there to discuss sauces or salad dressings. Among them, he could see the person who, until very recently, he believed to be his main course for the evening.

He had no chance to escape. He knew that. He knew what his immediate future held in store for him. One could escape fate only for so long. He prayed for the end to come fast and painless.

He could only hope.

_**One day, Lyle will pay for his crimes. In the meantime, I think this is a fitting punishment. What do you think?**_


	13. M for Mourning

**M****for **_**Mourning**_

Miss Parker approached the tombstone and placed a white rose on top of it. Crossing herself, she knelt. Her fingers traced the engraved name, while her lips whispered it. She got up and took a deep breath, barely holding down the tears.

The air around her was dry, the wind nonexistent. She closed her eyes, feeling as if there was nothing else around her.

_It has been such a long time_, she thought. _So much that's happened._

Another deep breath and her mind began wandering into the past, back to the days of her childhood, when she was no longer stranger to grief, but when she still had people who cared for her. She remembered them all, as they were then and as they were now.

_Why did we allow things to change so dramatically?_

Miss Parker opened up her eyes and felt his presence even before he placed his hand on her shoulder. She grabbed his hand there and squeezed it gently. He circled her, his hand still holding hers, and placed another white rose next to the one she'd put.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," she said. "Thank you."

"I told you I'd be here. You know I'd never lie to you."

"No. You just give me ulcers."

He didn't answer this time. Not because it was true or not, but because that was not the reason that had brought them there.

"I miss her, Jarod."

"I miss her too."

"We've only known her for two weeks, but..."

"It doesn't matter how much time you spend with someone, what matters is how you spend it." He squeezed her hand. "She gave us plenty. All three of us."

Wiping away a newborn tear, Miss Parker made the acknowledgment. "He should be here too, Jarod. Angelo was her friend as well."

"Why didn't you bring him with you, then?"

"I thought about it, but I couldn't. It's too dangerous. Imagine what this place would do to him."

"You're right. I hadn't thought about that."

"And they say you're smart." She sighed. "Ever since my fath... Mr. Parker died, Angelo has been visiting my office a lot. He has been a really great friend."

"He has always been your friend, Parker. We all have."

"I know. I just try to ignore that sometimes. I don't want people to miss me when I'm gone."

"How could they not?" he asked. "You've been my best friend ever since we were kids. It's true that you shot me-"

"Tried to."

"All right. _Tried_ to shoot me once or twice. But I know you only did that to protect me."

"I'm a good shooter, Jarod. Don't forget it."

"I know you're a good shooter. One of the best I know. But you're also a good friend. And good friends will always be missed. No matter how much they try to change that."

Miss Parker let go of his hand and turned around to face him for the first time since he arrived. His face was practically the same since she last saw him two years earlier, right after Carthis, yet so different from the boy with whom she'd spent her childhood days. The boy with whom she played and cried and laughed. Her companion.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. Jarod hugged her back. They both missed these hugs, not romantic, but friendly. Each hug was a symbol to a unspoken promise made between the two of them a long time.

_I will always be your friend._

Today, that promise had a witness.

_Goodbye, Faith._

_**I like when Jarod and Miss Parker step away from their usual roles, albeit temporarily, and indulge in a private moment between two old friends. Any words on this?**_


	14. N for Nothing Ever (Really) Changes

**N****for **_**Nothing ever (really) changes**_

I remember when they were young. I knew them as teens, as children, even infants. I may have not watched their births, but I've known them for most of their lives.

I remember how they were then. The friendship, the complicity; the bond that could break any barriers imposed by the dreadful place they were in.

I remember their constant defiance; their resolve to question the rules, to boldly explore the world around them.

I remember the pranks they would do to me, to Mr. Raines, even to Catherine. They were lovely children, though they could be real pests if they wanted to. God helped us!

I remember, just as I walked into my office early this morning, thinking to myself 'This is going to be just another one of those days.'

I remember seeing an envelope on the desk. I sat on the chair, opened the envelope and read the birthday card from Jarod and Miss Parker.

I got up from the chair and ripped my pants off.

I did not remember that on my birthday they always liked to put glue on my seat.

No matter how many years go by, nothing ever really changes.

_**The Centre isn't probably the kind of place where such pranks (or any prank, for that matter) are bound to happen. In any case, who knows? Care to comment?**_


	15. O for Options

**O****for **_**Options**_

There is a reason why I feel so empty inside. It's not a logical, nor is it a factual one. Not anymore, anyway. First, it used to be because of my mother's death – for too many years, anger and resentment have fueled my actions – then, it was because of the chase. One moment I had a friend, the next I was chasing him across the country, trying to return him to very same people who had taken my mother from me.

I could argue that I did not know that at the time. And I probably wouldn't have if he weren't out there to show it to me. But that doesn't excuse the fact that I betrayed his trust.

People call me the Ice Queen. How could they not? Everyone around me either dies or withers. It happened with my mother, with Jarod, Thomas... even with Mr. Parker, my supposed "father".

Jarod had a nickname for him. What was it? Ah! "Mr. Duplicity Himself". He always saw him for what he really were. I should have seen it too, but instead I allowed him to make a fool of me all those years. I was "daddy's little angel". So many lies and deceit, and for what? For what possible reason?

I spent my entire life at The Centre, first as a child who enjoyed spending time in its hallways – never realizing how much Jarod and Angelo (forgive me Timmy) were suffering – then as an adult, making it possible for others to suffer as they did.

I can lie to myself and say I didn't know what I was doing, but that would be like calling me stupid, which I'm not. I may not match Jarod's intelligence, but I'm pretty damn well close.

I wish I were still a child. I wish we could still be friends, but that would imply him still being a prisoner. I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't take his freedom away.

Why do you think I haven't caught him yet?

Jarod and I share a bond that few people know of and even fewer understand it. Basically, I can feel him. I know when he's hurt, and if I focus enough I can easily know where he is. I always interpreted this as empathy, a gut feeling. They've always been there. I didn't know what they really were, until Ethan came along for the ride.

That was the beginning of the end. I realized I would have to push Jarod as far away from me as possible. As much as it would hurt me, I knew it would be the only way for him to be really safe from The Centre. Having a common brother, who wished to see us back together, didn't help.

You can't outrun fate. I soon realized that. We both did. Little by little, we began drawing closer and closer to each other. Ethan said we were like an elastic cord that had been stretched to its maximum and was now returning to its original position. Though a bit strange, the example was very close to the truth.

Many years after of our forced departure, Jarod and I resumed our friendship. Only this time we wouldn't let The Centre come between us. That option was no longer acceptable.

_**When we first met her, she was the Ice-Queen. With the help of Jarod, we got know more about her hidden self. How much of what she used to be is still left in her? Is there no friendship left between them? What would it take for them to join forces?**_

_**Your words, please.**_


	16. P for Pretending

**P****for**_**Pretending**_

I don't like to pretend. I never did. One may wonder why is it that the best Pretender that ever lived – as far as they'd told me, it's not arrogance, it's the honest truth – doesn't like to do what he does naturally best. The answer is quite simple: just because you're good at doing something, doesn't mean you have to like it.

I'd like to be something else other than a Pretender, a regular guy with a regular job. The problem is, I don't know what I'd do if I had a chance to choose something permanent. Occasionally, when I initiate a pretend, I think to myself, _This is a job I wouldn't mind doing more often. _Then that feeling disappears and I move on to something new. Being able to be anything you want doesn't help you when you don't know who you want to be when all the facades are gone.

Underneath the surface, closer to the core, who am I for real? Fireman, accountant, mobster, ice-truck man, butcher, gardener, lawyer, zoologist, police, doctor, hostage negotiator, architect, photographer, reporter, hit-man. I've been so many people since I started doing this, but I was never given a chance to decide; no one ever asked me who was I for real, who I really wanted to be.

Fortunately, or not, I'm not alone on this. I know for a fact that the people chasing me – Miss Parker, Sydney, Broots, even Sam –, they all pretend to be something they're not. We all wear masks, some more attached than others, to hide our true nature. Like the saying says, _It takes one to know one_. Beneath the ice, the calm demeanor, the nervousness, the chilling look, I know who they really are. Lucky for me, they don't know who I am. If they did, they'd probably caught me by now.

_**Is it possible that Jarod's ignorance about his past is the only thing that keeps him disappearing completely from The Centre's radar? **_

_**Your opinions would be appreciated.**_


	17. Q for Question

**Q****for **_**Question**_

_Blue Cove, DW_

_February, 3__rd __2013_

_A long time ago someone told me to question things, to question people, to question the world around me. Curiosity may have killed the cat, and ignorance may be bliss, but nothing good ever came from ignoring what's right in front of you. I've tried that. Trust me when I say it doesn't work. There was a time when I honestly believed that, if I didn't know it, then it couldn't hurt me. I was wrong. Not knowing things doesn't save you from being hurt; it only serves to camouflage the source of the pain._

_The Centre took a lot from me as it did from you, not because they needed, simply because they could. The people they killed, the crimes they've committed weren't done by retribution – a violent reaction to a simple transgression – they were their personal way to say: _This is how we give warnings. _Message received._

_I know what they're capable of. I always knew that. Even when I tried to fool myself, especially then, I knew I wasn't going to Hell when I died: I was already there. A real Hell on Earth. With nicer furniture, yes. But no less horrid._

_When the bubble popped I was offered a choice. I could either leave and never look back or I could turn a blind's eye and stay to search for the answers to the questions that had haunted me since I realized who I was._

_I wish I'd run._

_Staying behind, complying with the devil's deeds, being an executive of evil, all for the sake of knowing the truth. And to what end? To what purpose? I decided to fight the devil in his own territory. How stupid was I? I've tried to defeat the great beast, only to become the beast itself._

_There is no atonement for the crimes I've committed. And I'm glad there isn't. I'm not worthy of forgiveness, absolution or any other form of consolation. My only choice, my final choice, is trying to find a way to set things right again._

_By the time you read this letter, I'll be long gone. Even now, I can feel the end getting near by the second. Very soon, I won't have to fake anymore. I won't have to be feared, cold, insensitive. I won't have to be anything to anyone again._

_I truly hope that you, my heritage, are stronger than I thought I was. I hope that the hatred I inspired in the two of you will provide you with enough determination to put aside your differences and bring this place down. I trust that, for once, you will make me proud._

_William Raines_

_**I don't think Mr. Raines is worthy of redemption, but I may be wrong. This letter seems to indicate there is more about this ghoul than we imagined. Do you agree?**_


	18. R for Repent

**R****for **_**Repent**_

I love my son with all my heart and I know that he loves me too. I also know he will never forgive me if he discovers the truth of what I've done. Of what I've been doing for all these years.

I condemned my own son to Hell in order to save myself.

We all have to live with the choices we make and suffer its consequences. I could argue that it was not my fault, that I was forced into this – in a way, I was –, but that doesn't mean I didn't have a choice: just that I chose the easiest way for me.

My grandfather, Henry Summers, was a wealthy business man who wanted more than what he already had. He met Carson Parker on a boat from Scotland to the United States. Although Parker had the power to found The Centre, he didn't have the first clue of how to run a business. His name was never on any records, but my grandfather was responsible for many of its definitions. If Hell has rules, he has written them.

I've known about The Centre my whole life. I was born there. At the time, they only had ten sub-levels. One more more level than Hell, ironically. My friend Catherine was also born there. We were best friends since always. Neither of us knew the truth – that we weren't born by chance. Our lives had been designed as the means to an end and any illusion of an independent life was just that: an illusion.

Only after they took my sons, a few years after Emily was born, did I discover the whole truth. My grandfather thought he was an intelligent man – and he was –, but his partner Parker had the Devil, or something very close to it, in his pocket. He couldn't be crossed, he couldn't be manipulated. He had sacrificed far too much to allow that to happen.

The scrolls that had given him power beyond belie predicted the founding of The Centre and the birth of my first son. He didn't met my grandfather in that boat by chance. He _knew _he would be there. He created the circumstances to assure that happened. The prophecies written on the scrolls were not literal, some of it was subject to interpretation. The wrong choice could create a new path, offer a new chance, but in the end that was only a delay. The inevitable would always occur.

If any of it is still true, that's the only expectancy of forgiveness I can hope for. As it is believed that my firstborn son will bring The Centre to the pinnacle of its power, it is also true that he may be the harbinger of its doom. It all depends on who will guide him.

For some time, I believed Catherine's child would be the one to do that. Catherine told me how her Madelyn and Jarod were the best of friends. She wasn't naive enough to believe he had been abandoned by his parents like she was told, but she had no idea that he was my son. At the time I was distancing myself from The Centre, waiting for an opportunity to present itself – too scared to go against Carson.

To this day I still don't know how she discovered who Jarod was. Whether I somehow let it slip, or someone told her, as soon as she tried to do something about it, they put an end to it. I heard many rumors about her faking her death, but I have trouble believing she would do that to her own daughter.

I knew Catherine. Both as a mother and as a person, she was twice the woman I could ever hope to be. I know she would not abandon her daughter on that hell. Not even IF she only had that option.

It was my own mother who told what I had to choose. I could deliver them my son on my own free will and be on my way, or I could challenge them, getting me and my husband killed, and still have Jarod taken from us. She told me this in a quite casual manner, as if she was referring to a recipe book or something as trivial. By then, my grandfather knew who Carson Parker really was and what he was capable of. If he said he wanted my son, nothing would prevent him from doing exactly that.

At the time, few people knew he was still alive. As far as I know, both his sons believed him to be dead. In fact, I don't think they had no idea about their relationship at all. I wish I could feel sorry for them, but I can't. Like their father before them, they brought nothing but pain and suffering to my family.

When I look back to the day when I made my choice, I can't stop wondering if I made the right one. Hand over my own son or die trying to hopelessly avoid it?

I chose my son. I chose Jarod. I would die before I allowed for him to be taken from me.

I was about six months pregnant when I told Charles we needed to move. Fast. He was the impulsive one, not me; yet, as soon as he heard me, he was ready to go. He didn't ask me why, but I told him anyway. Not the entire story, just enough for him to understand the urgency of the situation.

Jarod was born two months later. Charles insisted that we went to a hospital, but I refused. I knew my grandfather would be watching them. I'm glad he agreed with me. To this day, I'll never forget the look of happiness on Charles' face as he helped bring his own son into this world.

A year and a half later, I discovered I was once again pregnant. We didn't plan for it, but we welcomed that child with all the love we had. Even though I couldn't stop worrying about what could happen if The Centre somehow found out about this. I spent the better part of my second pregnancy always expecting to have my house barged in by sweepers.

It never happened. And because of that, I allowed myself to be careless and go to a hospital so that I could give birth to Kyle. Not that I had a choice. Unlike Jarod, Kyle's pregnancy was a troubled one. I had no doubt that, without professional medical assistance, he would not have made it. And neither would I. There wasn't any other choice. If I wanted Jarod to have a baby brother, I had to take that chance.

As soon as I was good enough to travel, we moved to another town. We stayed there for a week before moving again. We spent the next year and a half living like that. It was by then that I told Charles a little more of the truth I'd been keeping from him. Not all of it. There were things I _still _didn't know, things that he _didn't _need to know. His reaction was understandably furious. It nearly shattered our marriage, but we managed to overcome it. Having that weight out of my conscience, with the shadow of The Centre no longer above our heads, we settled down on a quiet town outside Harrigton.

I worried about the dangerous proximity to Blue Cove and The Centre, but Charles assured me they would never consider looking for us there – so close to the lions' den.

We can only prolong the inevitable. We cannot avoid it.

One fateful night, as we were about to tuck the boys in, two teams of sweepers broke in. Charles was knocked out cold before he had a chance to do anything. I fought hard, but not hard enough. I cried, I beg, all to no avail.

A tall man with evil eyes – later on, I'd know him to be one of Carson's sons – took Kyle from my arms and left without uttering a word. Another one held Jarod in a gentle, almost soothing way. He spoke to me with a distinct European accent. "I promise we will take good care of him."

I slapped him hard. Then, my world went black.

And it never ceased to be.

_**This story has been on my mind for a long time, but I didn't have the right words to put it on paper. After the Pretender movies and all that talk about prophecies and Catherine and Margaret knowing each other, I began to wonder how deep Margaret's connections to The Centre could be.**_

_**How did you like it? **_


	19. S for Secrets

**S****for **_**Secrets**_

I know the truth, the whole truth. But if anyone asks me, I'll swear I don't know any thing. Well, not anyone. There is one person who I'm supposed to tell every thing I've been told, every thing I know. But that will only happen when she's ready. Meanwhile, I'll have to hold on to this secrets for a little while longer and hope I don't die before I have the chance to tell her the truth.

I won't live forever – I'll be glad if die of old age or natural causes – and she needs to know this. She needs to finish what her mother started, but first she needs to learn, she needs to rethink her options.

The moment she heard the Voices for the first time since childhood was the moment I realized she was almost ready. She came to me for help with understanding her gift. Against my better judgment, I helped her just enough for her to find out about Tommy Thompson and Alex. I didn't spend three decades tutoring Jarod without learning a thing or two about pretending. I knew Jarod did not escape alone and I knew that, the moment she discovered this, she would start to question the reasons for not looking for the other pretender as well.

Again, I was wrong. This discovery did nothing to change her resolve to catch Jarod. Quite the contrary. If anything, she's more determined than ever. I don't understand why. With every thing she already knows by now, I expected her to act differently. Not that I don't appreciate the terrible ordeal we all face, she in particular, if we don't bring Jarod back soon. Raines made that clear. Still, I had hoped she would start listening more to the people who care about her. I had hoped she would start listening to her own voice.

I dread not being able to tell her every thing I know. Every she needs to know. But I'll dread it even more if she disregards what I tell her.

As much as it hurts me seeing her on the wrong path, I can't divert her from there. I can only wait and hope that I'll still be here when finally comes to me.

_**Since I saw "The Inner Sense", especially that part when Angelo tells Miss Parker that "Sydney knows all the secrets and lies", that I can't stop wondering just how much Sydney really knows. That, combined with Mr. Raines pointing out that "There is still one person alive who knows the whole truth" and Catherine's message in "The Pretender 2001" to Miss Parker "Ask your father. He knows all the secrets". Maybe I'm just getting ahead of myself here, but this makes some sense to me.**_

_**What do you think?**_


	20. T for Trouble

**T****for **_**Trouble**_

Argyle got me into trouble. Again. Oh, I know I shouldn't be _that _surprised, but just for once I expected things to happen just a tiny bit different than usual. After all, it was only the baptism of Argyle's second son, of which I was supposed to be the godfather. I'm not sure if I should feel honored or scared. The idea of another mini-Argyle loose on the world was quite terrifying, only this time I might be able to be a good influence on the child.

That was when I asked him the name of his son and he said he'd tell me later.

Something knocked on my door at the moment. I looked through the peephole. Care to guess what it was? That's right. A bad feeling. Big as bear.

* * *

Argyle was waiting for me at the airport. He hugged me with enthusiasm and helped carry my luggage to his car. Mona was there waiting, along with Argyle Junior (why the cruelty?) and their newborn. As I entered the car, I held his tiny hand and said: "Hey! Look at you! How old are you, little man?"

"He's gonna be one week old tomorrow," said Mona.

"What's his name?" I asked.

Argyle Junior was about to say something, but Mona put her hand over his mouth.

"It's a surprise, Jay-Rod!" said Argyle, as he started the car and drove away. "Trust me!"

I looked out of the window and saw a bad feeling waving at me. Surprises with Argyle were almost never a good thing; especially when he went into so much trouble keeping them a secret. I knew that placing my trust on a man who possessed the almost magical talent of dragging me into trouble every time we met was not wise, but after what had happened three months earlier in Scotland, I needed some thing silly in my life. And that was something I was sure Argyle and his family could deliver without a doubt.

* * *

The next morning we were standing in front of an... edifice. I don't really think anyone could that _thing _a church; it looked like something from another planet. (By the way, I'm skipping the events of the previous night for several good reasons. The least of them was Argyle's insistence in making dinner and that's not something I want to remember.) I knew I should know better than to ask, but my curiosity beat the crap out of my good sense.

"What kind of church is that?"

"It's not a church," said Mona. "It's a temple. In honor of-" She sneezed.

"Bless you."

"Oh, we don't say that, Jay-Rod," Argyle cut in. "We say 'Up you go!'. You see, the great," sneezes, "is all about reaching high, reaching for the stars.

More like reaching for a tissue. Something strange was going on. "Is this a new religion?"

"It's not a religion, Jarod," Mona explained. "It's a way of being.

Argyle then proceeded to explain to me how the great (sneezes) came from a far away galaxy, with the sole purpose of helping human kind reach its maximum potencial. Here's the short version: a long time ago, in a place far away, there once lived a man, a good man, a powerful man, who traveled to our planet and inspired others to be like him, then he died and some people continued to do as he said, while others would make up as they went along. The end. Trust me when I tell you _don't _want the long version. Especially the part with the goose wearing the pink dress. That's just wrong.

Speaking of wrong outfits, that was when a man dressed in a weird rainbow custom approached us. The color of his clothes were so vivid I could barely look at him. He stopped by us and seemed to notice something. "Ah man! I made a stain! (Sneeze)damn it! Please forgive me, (sneeze)"

I did my best to find out where that stain was, but it was as hard to spot as a red dot on a Seinfeld episode.

"Are you..." he produced a piece of paper from his pocket and read, "Argyle and Mona?"

"Yes. And this is Jarod."

"Nice to meet you," I said, offering my hand.

The rainbow-man grabbed my hand, but didn't shook it; instead, he swooshed it around three times, clockwise, then he tilted his head back and made a noise that sounded like a croak.

"What was that?" I asked, as soon as he let go off my hand and started to walk away.

"He was welcoming you."

"That was nice of him. I think..."

* * *

The inside of the building was even weirder than the outside. I didn't believe such a thing could be possible, but there it was: so painful to look at, it almost made me miss The Centre. Despite how evil most of the people there were, at least they had better taste.

We were lead to a large room shaped like a triangle. The two side walls were decorated with pictures of planets and galaxies, which, judging by the way they were were cut, had probably been done by someone with poor motor skills. Suddenly, the idea of having Argyle swept away to another planet made me smile.

"You like it?" Argyle asked, pulling me away from my reverie. "Junior here did it all by himself!" Argyle patted Junior on his back with pride.

Against the back wall stood four row of plastic chairs, each row had five chairs, all in different colors. I had no idea they met so many people.

"I told Junior to pick any color he wanted," said Mona. "He chose brown."

I thought about saying something, but quickly reconsidered it and just smiled. "He is truly his parents' son."

"He sure!" she said, happy. "Oh, Jarod! Thank you so much for doing this! You have no idea how much this means to us!"

"I'm very glad for you. Although, I must admit, all of this is kind of big surprise for me. I thought Argyle was catholic."

"He was. But after his pop died, Argyle lost his faith."

"What about you?

"I just want what's best for him?"

"And he found that here?"

"For now. This a good place for him."

"Not exactly your regular belief, is it?"

"It's different," she replied.

Not exactly the word I'd choose, but all right.

"Hey, Jay-Rod! We're about to start," Argyle called.

I nodded and, as I looked around, I realized all the seats were filled with men and women of all ages and ethnicities. At the peak of the triangle, standing on a marble platform, was a public water fountain. Like the suit rainbow-man was wearing, and the chairs where the guests were sitting, it had too much color. I wish I could pretend to blind just for a little while. Oh! How am I? All right, Jarod. You can do this. Close your eyes, take a few deep breaths and... And someone was pulling my sleeve. I opened my eyes and looked over, expecting to see Argyle or Mona, but instead I found...

"Broots?"

Then it hit me. If Broots was here, then Sydney and Miss Parker shouldn't be that far. Damn it! I knew this was gonna be trouble!

"Hey, Jarod! I didn't expect to see you-"

I pushed him aside and made a dash for the exit.

And that is where our story began.

* * *

I was almost reaching the door when Mona appeared before me, with the baby in her arms.

"What did you do that for?" she asked with a surprisingly angry tone. Before I could think of any explanation, she handed the baby over to me. "I hope you don't throw HIM on the floor too!" she said and went to help Broots get up.

What the hell am I waiting for? I have to get out of here!

"Are you okay, cuz?"

Cuz?

"Yeah, I'm fine. Jarod's an old friend."

"Well, pushing someone over is not a friendly thing to do, if you ask me."

"Don't worry about that. It was my fault, really."

As I watched the interchange between Broots and Mona, I noticed Debbie chatting with Junior. Debbie was a bright kid; I couldn't think of a single topic she and Junior could have in common.

Argyle called out for me again: "Hey, Jay-Rod! I called you like ten paragraphs ago! You coming or what?"

"Huh... Sure. Why not?"

Everything was ready to go. Apparently, they were just waiting for me. I returned the baby to Mona, apologized to Broots and walked over to the water cooler.

Now, allow me to push things a little faster and just go to the part when rainbow-man asked: "And what name shall the child receive?"

Pause.

After Argyle Junior, I thought I was ready for anything.

"We're gonna name him... Jargyle!" he said, proudly.

I was wrong.

"Jargyle?" I asked. "What kind of a name is that?"

"It's a tribute."

An offense is more like it. Not glad that he already has the Argyle gene, they decided to add a bad name in the mix.

"I don't think it is."

"You're just being modest."

"If I may proceed?" Rainbow-man interrupted. "The Big (sneeze)... Someone, please, there's a draft I here here!" A door closed. "Thank you. As I was saying, the Big (Sneeze) doesn't like to wait. Can we wrap this up?"

Please! Let us do that.

* * *

After the ceremony, there was a small buffet. I called dibbs on the pop-tarts, much to Broots' dismay.

"I had no idea you were related to Mona."

"Neither did I."

As I arched my eyebrow, he explained. "After one of your trips here, back when Argyle and Mona first met, I did a background check on her and discovered she's the daughter of a half-brother of a half-uncle of my father.

"I can imagine that family tree."

"Really? You think you could...?"

"I said imagine, not pretend. I'm on vacation here."

Rainbow-man approached us. "So, Jarod, what do you do for a living?"

"I pretend," I answered, as truthfully as I could.

"You should do something real instead. Did you try the fruit-cake? It's very good!"

"They have fruit-cake?" Broots asked.

"Dibs!" I called.

"Ah... man!"

Argyle came over to us, with (sorry, I can't say his name yet) on his arms.

"Once again, thanks for coming, Jay-Rod. This wouldn't be the same without you."

You got that right.

"I think next time we're gonna aim for a girl. But I need a cool name." He turned to me and asked: "That lady that's always chasing you? What's her name?"

Oh, I'm so getting in trouble with Miss Parker...

_**While having been a drama series, every season we were presented with a comic relief episode featuring Argyle. This was my attempt at writing something funny, which I haven't done for a long while. Hope you liked it.**_


	21. U for Unit

**U ****for **_**Unit**_

Author's Note: Of all the recent stories in this series, this was one of the most stimulating I've ever wrote. Writing about Major Charles days at the army and possible Centre involvement even then took a lot of work. I hope you enjoy the effort.

* * *

He woke up to the sound of gunfire and yelling. It didn't startle him. He still preferred waking up to the sounds of Nature – even if they consisted for the most part on his girlfriend Maggie's snoring – but he was getting used to that noisy wake-up call. It amazed him how easily he had stripped off of the quiet boyfriend skin to put on the timid soldier outfit. Just when they were beginning to think about getting married and starting a family, someone decided it would be a good idea to ship him off to the other side of the world to kill people he had no qualms with. Henry Charles was many things, young and naive for example, but fool was not one of them.

After getting dressed, he grabbed his gear and left the tent. The camp was under attack. How had the north Koreans managed to breach all lines of defense was something to think about later. If there was a later.

He searched around, looking for any superior officer who would tell him what to do. There was none to be seen.

"Charlie!" someone yelled from behind.

He turned and saw a north Korean running towards him. Charles didn't wait for him to take his shot, simply aimed his own gun and fired. More soldiers came and he tried to fight them off as long as he could, until he realized that he and his unit were the only ones still standing. All the others were dead. Seeing no possible good outcome if they were to stay there, he told his companions they should make a run for the woods.

"Go ahead! I'll cover you!" he said to them.

He fired a couple of rounds, all in the direction of the opponent, but very few actually with intent to kill. Though he was used to shooting ducks and other small animals, taking a life, especially a human one, was never an easy thing for him, no matter how much they told him it was a necessary evil.

Once his companions were behind the safe protections of the trees – he dismissed the part of him that feared they were heading for another ambush – they started to open fire to offer him cover. Using the opportunity, he left his hiding spot and ran. One of the soldiers got lucky and a bullet grazed him on his right shoulder. He almost lost his balance with the impact, but managed to hold on.

It was at that moment that he heard someone calling out. It was practically a gasp, enough to tell him that whoever it was, didn't have much time to live. Sorry pal, can't help you, he thought to himself, wishing that he could.

"P-please."

He was closer to him than he initially thought. Charles stopped – ignoring the bullets whistling by a little too close for comfort, his companions yelling for him to hurry the hell up – and looked for the man who was crying for help. He saw him ten feet to his left and ran towards him. He was leaning against a water barrel. It wasn't the safest of places to hide but, under the cloak of night, it had kept him hidden from the enemy.

Having to decide between his own safety and saving a man who probably didn't have that much time to live, he chose the latter. No man left behind. That was what they kept telling them, and even if they didn't, he wasn't going to abandon anyone. Charles made his way to the injured man and made a quick assessment of his wounds. His shoulder was bleeding profusely.

"The bullet is still in," the man said, as if guessing what Charles was about to ask.

"Are you a doctor or something?" he asked.

"Studying to be one. My father thought it would be good for me to be on the battlefield."

"Can you walk? We need to get to those trees."

The man nodded. Charles helped him get up, put his arm over his neck and scurried away as fast as they could. Aside from the shoulder wound, Charles noticed that the man also had a small limp, but he figured they did not have the time to acknowledge every single wound.

As soon as he saw Charles, Frank was about to open his mouth, probably to complain, when he saw that his companion wasn't arriving alone.

"What took you so long, Charlie?"

"I couldn't leave him behind," I answered, as if that wasn't obvious.

"Always the good Samaritan," he said, with something of an evil gleam in his eyes.

Charles didn't know much about Frank, none of them did, but the man gave him the creeps. He always had the feeling that Frank wouldn't go back to rescue anyone but himself. This was the confirmation.

"I try my best, Frank."

"We have to go! Now!" Andrew yelled.

No more time for reveries. It was time for them to run for their lives and hope they would all still be alive to see the next day.

* * *

They traveled all night, stopping only absolutely necessary. Andrew and Thomas helped Charles carry the now barely conscious young doc. Frank lead the way and used that as an excuse for not helping. He didn't actually say they should leave the injured behind, although there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he would quickly agree to that proposition.

So far, he was still alive. If they could reach somewhere safe fast, he might have a fighting chance. Thomas and Charles and been dragging him for the past two hours, his legs no longer able to hold his body.

"We need to stop," said Thomas, halting his step.

"We can't stop," replied Frank, a few feet ahead. "Not unless you want to get caught."

"He needs help."

"He needs a coffin," he said, not joking.

"Screw you, Frank!" Charles said, before helping Thomas lying him down and carefully removing his shirt to to see the wound. He was squeamish about blood, but that was a nasty one. Thomas tried to hold it off, but the contents of his stomach quickly made their way out.

"Damn!" he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It doesn't look that bad when you see it from a distance."

"It sure doesn't," Charles agreed.

The young doc opened his eyes and stared vaguely at Charles.

"Hey! Relax, okay? We're going to help you."

He shook his head slowly. "N-no time. Give me... your gun."

"Don't you have your own gun?"

"I came here to save lives, not take them."

"Well, not it's your turn to be saved," said Andrew, joining them.

Frank stood by. He knew he could not leave alone and that pissed him off.

"Fight them off... long as I can. K-keep you... covered."

"I thought you didn't want to take lives," Charles teased, pulling his knife and using a lighter to sterilize the blade.

"Some times we have to do things we don't appreciate."

"Like trying to bring the dead back to life," Frank complained.

Thomas got up and walked over to him. "What the hell's the matter with you? Have you no decency?"

"Plenty. But survival comes first. A group is only as strong as the people in it."

"I don't know what that means, but I know that if you don't shut your mouth, you're going to regret it."

Ignoring all the commotion, Charles reached for the tissue which Andrew had embedded with water. He needed to clean off as much blood as he could before he did anything.

"Have you ever done this before?" the injured man asked.

"Only with ducks and rabbits. And only after they're dead." I didn't intended it as a joke but he laughed anyway and it made him gasp in pain. "Sorry," I said.

"Not your fault."

Having cleared enough blood to see the entrance wound, Charles grabbed the knife and was about to go for it, when the man stopped him.

"Wait!"

"What is it?"

"You need to keep me still. If I twitch, you might sever an artery or render my arm useless."

"No pressure, huh?"

Charles signaled Thomas to come and help them. The injured took a clean tissue from his pocket and bit on it.

"I'lltrynottoyelltooloud."

"What was that?" Andrew asked.

Removing the tissue from his mouth, he repeated himself: "I'll try not to yell too loud."

As he was about to bit on the tissue again, Charles asked him: "What's your name?"

"William. You can call me Billy."

"Okay, Billy. This is gonna hurt like shit."

Billy nodded, signaling that he was ready. Andrew and Thomas kept him still as Charles began to cut it.

* * *

They found a place that seemed safe enough to stop for a while. They'd been traveling for a long time and even though it could be a security risk, they all needed to get some rest. Thomas found a small cave, large enough to accommodate all five of them there. It was more practical than setting up camp; plus, it hid them better.

Frank, as always, was the only one who complained. "I can't believe I have to here like some damn lab rat!"

"There are worse places, you know?" Billy commented. Although he was still weak, he was longer under the risk of dying from an infection.

Frank ruffed and moved away from his companions.

"I wonder what his problem is," Charles said to himself.

"Some people are simply too stubborn to deal with," Billy answered for him.

Charles nodded. "Can I get you something to eat?"

"No. I just need to take some rest."

"All right. We leave in one hour."

Billy closed his eyes and dozed off. Charles stood awake, watching as his companions fell asleep one by one. It didn't take long for him to join them in deep slumber.

* * *

Charles was dreaming about how he was going to propose to Maggie when something woke him up. Since all the others were still asleep, he wondered if the sound he heard could have been something in his dream. Then he heard it again – footsteps – and and realized the cave was no longer safe. He woke his companions up, signaling them to keep quiet. They all grabbed their guns, all except Billy who was told to stay put.

"I'll be back for you, Billy," Charles said. "I promise."

"I'm sure you will, Charlie."

Charles nodded and followed Thomas and Andrew. Frank, always the impetuous one, had taken the lead and was already by the entrance when the three of them got there. The sun had not yet risen, but there was already enough light to see things that remained partially hidden by the dark.

"There's at least two behind those trees," Frank said, pointing at his left. "And possibly another one on the opposite side," he continued.

"They have all the exits covered," Andrew commented.

"So it would seem," Frank agreed.

Before they could decide that to do besides wait, they heard a chopper approaching. Being the tallest, Thomas spotted it before any of the others did.

"It's one of ours!" he said happily.

"That's wonderful. But how the hell do we reach it?" Frank argued.

"One of us has to stay behind and keep the others covered," Charles said.

"No," said Andrew. "We all go."

"I wish that could be possible, but under the circumstances, unless of us stays, we're all dead."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

Charles shrugged. "I don't know. I just am."

"Fine. Then let it be me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm better rested than you are. Not to mention that wound of yours."

"It's only a scratch."

"Be that as it may, it damages your aim. Which leaves me as the best shooter in the group."

"Let's just go already!" Frank urged.

"Not before we get Billy," Charles said, signaling Thomas to go with him.

Billy was getting up as they approached him. "I heard it's time to go."

"You heard well," Charles said. "Let's move."

Charles flinched as Billy put his arm over his injured shoulder. Noticing his discomfort, Thomas asked: "You wanna switch sides?"

"No. I'll be fine, Tommy."

Frank was definitely losing his patience for having to wait. Not that he had any other choice. Andrew promised him he wouldn't guarantee his safety if Frank decided to go by himself. Judging by the animosity between them, they'd probably shoot each other if they could.

They were about to make their move, when Charles realized something.

"Wait! We can't go!"

"What now?" Frank asked.

"If there's really someone there and there", Charles said, pointing at both directions, "as you say there are, how can Andy keep both sides covered?"

"He can use two guns instead of one," was Frank's reply.

"Don't worry about me. I got enough ammo to keep you covered all the way to Paris."

"I don't like this," Charles complained. Turning to Frank, he asked: "How's your aim?"

"Better than yours will ever be!" he snapped.

"Then _you _keep that other side covered while Tommy and I carry Billy."

It was clear that Frank did not like that idea one bit. However, between firing a couple of shots and risk getting himself shot while carrying a dead-weight, Frank's choice was not that unexpected.

"Fine," he said.

They ran as fast as they could. Frank's suspicions proved to be correct: they were shooting at them from both sides. Yet, surprisingly enough, none of the bullets came any close to hit them. Maybe Luck was with them.

Deciding to take a chance, Frank left his post and ran after the trio, confident that Andrew would watch his back. After a few strides, he had already gone past Charles, Thomas and Billy.

A group of American soldiers came to their aid and they managed to reach the chopper faster than they expected.

"Is everyone here?" the Captain asked.

Frank was quick to nod.

"No!", said Charles, ignoring Frank's glare. "There's someone still by the cave. We need to get him back."

"Take three men with you. And don't get yourself killed."

"Yes, sir!"

Charles picked up three soldiers and they went back to get Andrew.

* * *

The Captain watched as Charles and three other soldiers walked away. When they were out of ear-shot, he turned to Frank and made a comment: "I assume it well."

"Well enough for him to believe it was all real," Frank answered.

"I could have lived without your men shooting at me," Billy complained.

"That won't happen again."

"Be sure that it don't... Captain."

"What shall I tell your father?" he asked, nodding to Frank and Billy.

Billy approached the Captain and stared at him, like a snake staring at a rat. "You are not to acknowledge us that way," he said menacingly. "Are we clear?"

"Tell our father we should keep an eye on Charlie. I have a feeling he'll be very important to us in the future."

"What does Fennigor think?"

"Andy is one of us. He only wants what's best for The Centre."

"And Thompson?"

"I'll deal with Thompson, if necessary," Frank answered.

Captain Stuart Jamison nodded, feigning agreement. An unwise decision had gotten him in bed with the Devil and his spawns. The consequences of that decision would cost him his soul, not to mention his life, but it was a necessary sacrifice to keep his two daughters safe. Catherine and Dorothy were the only family he had left and he would do what it took to protect them. God saved his soul

THE END


	22. V for Vilipend

**V ****for **_**Vilipend**_

Author's Note: A different approach to what Mr. Parker's agenda could have been. Any comment is welcome. Especially good ones!

_DSA DATE: April, 28__th__1970_

_For Centre Use Only_

"_Daddy?"_

_Looking away from the documents he was reading pertaining the Centre's latest project, Mr. Parker turned to his daughter and plastered his most sincere smile. "What is it, Angel?"_

"_Can I go see Jarod, please?"_

_He put both hands on her shoulders and stared at her. "Now. You know how important Jarod is to us, don't you? You can not interrupt your schedule every time you want."_

"_Please, daddy..."_

"_Don't you have any friends you can play with?"_

"_Jarod is my best friend."_

"_No, he is not," he stated quite vehemently. "He's a Centre asset and I want you nowhere near him!"_

"_But, daddy...!"_

"_Enough!" he said, walking back to his desk, fuming. "This is all your mother's fault! She was the one who allowed you to..." Before he could continue, Mr. Parker noticed how hard her daughter was trying, and failing, to hold back her tears. _

_He sighed, got up from his chair and walked over to her. She wrapped her small arms around him and sobbed. "There, there," he said unemotionally, patting her on the back. "I didn't mean it like that."_

"_I miss her so much, daddy!"_

"_So do I, Angel."_

"_Why did she do it? Why did she leave us?"_

"_We've been over this," he reminded her, as if that would suffice it. "Your mother wasn't feeling well."_

_She pulled off from the hug and stared at him with an icy glare. "Why didn't YOU help her?"_

"_Because no one knew your mother was considering doing something like this."_

"_But you were her husband! You were supposed to know everything about her! And she you!"_

"_I wish that could be true, but everyone has secrets. Even couples." He wiped a tear from her face and offered a tiny smile. "Anyway, none of that can change what happened. Your mother killed herself because she was weak. The only thing we can do now is learn from that mistake." He put one hand on her shoulder and used the other one to lift her chin up. "We need to be strong in order to survive. I won't always be here to take care of you, understand?"_

_She nodded, not sure of what she was agreeing to._

"_Good." Once again, he walked back to his desk and sat down, this time with no intention of getting up again. "Now, if you don't mind, I have some urgent paperwork to finish."_

_Young Miss Parker knew that that was her cue to leave. Her father was not know for being a patient man and pushing him any further would accomplish nothing. But who should she talk to about how she felt? If not with him, then who?_

_She lowered her head and said, "Yes, daddy."_

_Mr. Parker nodded, not diverting his attention from the folder he was holding. He tried to focus on the words and numbers printed on the sheet, but his conscience kept trying to pull his attention someplace else._

_Finally giving up, he put the papers down and opened the second drawer of his elegant desk. There, hidden under some folders, loose papers and other documents, was a framed picture of Catherine Parker from the day of their marriage. He would never say it to anyone, because that kind of display of emotions could be too dangerous, but that had been the happiest day of his life._

"_I miss you, Catherine," he said to the picture. "I wish things had turned out different, but I can't change the past, anymore than you could change the future."_

_Memories of a bloodied elevator shaft invaded his mind. He pushed those images away and focused on the picture of his late wife._

"_You were trying to do the right thing as always, but The Centre was too strong, still is, for us to take down on our own. I told you we had to play by their rules and wait for an opportunity." He sighed and caressed her smile. "I should have known you wouldn't listen. You were never the kind of person who'd stand by and watch others suffer. You had a passion to help people that made me love you every day." He laughed. "It also made us argue a lot."_

_Mr. Parker put the picture back on the desk and took a deep breath before proceeding with his monologue._

"_I know there will be a time when I'll pay for looking the other way and not doing anything. I regret having to approve every sick and twisted experiment Raines chooses to conduct, but I know my refusal on the grounds of morality and decency will not hold ground if he decides to take the matter into the hand of The Triumvirate. For that matter, I know I'm not supposed to be the hero in this picture. If anything, I must be the villain._

"_Our Angel is growing up to be one hell of a woman. She misses you terribly and I treat her like that is mistake. I don't know what else to do to protect her but push her away, Catherine. I want her gone. I need her gone. Away from The Centre. Safe. I can't do anything to stop them as long as she's around to be used as leverage against me. Especially if she finds out who her real father is. No, that can not happen. I'm thinking of sending her to Boarding School. Perhaps the outside world will attract her enough for her to want out._

"_I know you wouldn't approve of this, but I believe it's for the best. You were strong enough to face the enemy head-on. I'm not. I spent years trying to convince myself that I was simply waiting for the best opportunity, but the truth is I'm weak. And part of that weakness comes from still having too much to loose. Unlike you, I don't have the courage to make sacrifices. Not when they involve my daughter. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to-"_

_END DSA_

Miss Parker ejected the tiny disk from the DSA reader and put it on her desk. Now she knew the truth about her father. The truth he'd spent years hiding from her. The truth that could have set her free. If only they had been strong enough to trust each other. Instead, the truth had only got him killed and left her alone.


End file.
